


home (all the things that make it warm)

by Hazazel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Gift Fic, that's it that's the whole story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23141386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazazel/pseuds/Hazazel
Summary: Kiyoko is a simple woman. She sees Yachi get flustered, and her heart beats faster. She understands that Yachi is blushing because of her, and her heart explodes. She has Yachi confess her love to her, and all the tiny pieces put themselves back together in one aching, aching heart.It’s been six years, and the ache still hasn’t disappeared, although Kiyoko would now consider it a welcome part of life.
Relationships: Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	home (all the things that make it warm)

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone but especially frog !!! i hope you like it !!! it's tooth rotting fluff. that's literally it !

Kiyoko is a simple woman. She sees Yachi get flustered, and her heart beats faster. She understands that Yachi is blushing because of her, and her heart explodes. She has Yachi confess her love to her, and all the tiny pieces put themselves back together in one aching, aching heart.

It’s been six years, and the ache still hasn’t disappeared, although Kiyoko would now consider it a welcome part of life. Days begin early, since they live far from both their workplaces, and they end all too soon if you’re, like Kiyoko, hopelessly and utterly in love with your partner. Meals are spent talking quietly, there are long cuddle sessions on the couch, though it’s an old and uncomfortable one. Their home is small, as is their income, but by the gods, Kiyoko is determined to make it work.

Today starts like a normal Wednesday. Yachi yawns awake at about six in the morning, and inadvertently moves her cold feet under Kiyoko’s thighs, which is what wakes her. They spend a little bit of time regaining their bearings, slowly blinking the sleepiness away, before Yachi says in her morning voice, “Hi, Kiyoko.”

“Hi,” she answers, voice warm and smile not a touch colder. “Did you sleep well ?”

Yachi’s reply is a grumbled sound, but in her delicate voice, it sounds so cute that Kiyoko thanks whatever deity allowed her to spend her life with such a creature.

“I’ll make breakfast while you get dressed,” Kiyoko offers, and she gets up from their bed to pad into the kitchen area. She turns the rice cooker on, and waits for the water to run clean through her rice before she drops it inside the cooker, pausing to add water and a little pinch of salt. Then, she grabs the dashi powder, and the white miso paste from the fridge, before dropping everything in a saucepan on the stove with some water.

Yachi’s causing a ruckus in the bathroom – she probably fell asleep while washing her face again, and Kiyoko hopes this won’t be a repeat of the last time it happened. The hospital stay while they patched Yachi up was spent worrying to death. Thankfully, the little crow emerges from the bedroom without any trouble, work uniform on, and she sneaks a kiss from Kiyoko’s lips before setting out two bowls and two plates. The chopsticks are in a glass on the counter, and she grabs some on the way – they’re mismatched, as always, but Kiyoko can’t seem to care.

They wait for the food to be ready in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable in the least. Yachi was afraid of silence, at first. She would fill it with nonsense blabber, chirps and sounds all melting in Kiyoko’s brain, to make a picture of the girl she loves. By now, Yachi has learned that Kiyoko won’t hate her if silence happens in between discussions, and she behaves differently. Today, she’s holding Kiyoko’s hand under the table, swinging their arms slightly, until the rice cooker beeps and the pot boils. Kiyoko gets up  and plates out their breakfast.

“Thanks for the food,” Yachi yawns, before digging in. She makes a little noise of surprise at how hot the rice is, and she takes a second bite much more carefully.

“Slow down, we’re in no hurry,” Kiyoko says, hiding a smile behind her hand. “You’ll burn yourself.”

“Already – _ah oh it’s hot_ – already done,” Yachi complains, before sighing. “I want this day to be over with, so I can be back with you and watch a movie and cuddle. Ugh, I hate the client I work with today. Why do they always think I’m incompetent ?”

“They don’t know your worth,” Kiyoko answers, and she silently adds, “not like I do.”

Truth be told, Yachi isn’t the flashiest, most out-there person there is. She’s still shy, she still stutters and apologises profusely, but – you’d have to be really dumb not to see her talent. ‘Talent is something you make bloom,’ one of the people she knew from university once said to her. He was right, of course.

Today, Kiyoko works from home. She has a newspaper article to edit before she can send it to her team manager, and it’ll take most of her day. She’ll have very little time to cook, which is a shame, because (as the fridge calendar just reminded her) it’s their anniversary tonight.

Six years. It went by so fast – like the days blurred into one another, all coloured black and orange at first, before all the other colours added their little touch. Pink for Yachi’s cheeks when she confessed for the first time, and crimson for Kiyoko’s when she confessed for the second time. Blue, like the sky when they held their hands; green like the bracelet Yachi gave to her for their first month. The tales of their love are quietly whispered, but nonetheless, they sing with power.

The day crawls by, after Yachi leaves for work. The article is easy enough to edit, but it’s unbearably long, and the sun has curved downwards when Kiyoko finally finishes. She’s already prepared the dough this morning, in between adding commas and sighing in exasperation at the writer’s English, so she only has to bake the dough before Yachi comes back, which shouldn’t take long.

Minutes seem to stretch into infinity, the ticking of the clock so loud Kiyoko buries it under a cushion. It’s seven in the evening and Yachi should be back any moment now. The fugashi is laid out on a cooling rack, sprinkled with brown sugar, and the thai curry (a not so secret favourite of them both, who surprisingly like it spicy) is simmering joyously. Any moment now – but time crawls as it did before, and Yachi is still not home.

Kiyoko’s phone rings with an incoming message – “ _sorry aaa work_ ” – and she smiles, answering with “ _It’s okay, I’ll be waiting_ ,” and she turns down the heat on the stove. A full hour passes before the keys jingle on the other side of the door, and Yachi enters, or rather-

“I’m so sorry I was late !” a small voice pipes in from beneath the most gigantic bouquet Kiyoko has ever seen. “Happy six years, Kiyoko !”

Finally, Yachi’s head emerges, and the sight of her, crowned with flowers, is so beautiful that the ache – the never-ending ache – threatens to break her all over again.

“I love you,” Kiyoko says instead, and Yachi’s lips wobble.

“I love you,” she says, “I love you so much.”

Later, when the bouquet is in a vase and they’ve eaten and brushed their teeth, when they lie in bed, legs tangled and hands intertwined, Kiyoko will forget about the ache again, though for now that’s all she feels, and she’ll feel whole again.

**Author's Note:**

> please don't forget to leave kudos and comments !!! it means the world


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